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  • Contact Us
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    • 05.11.25 Fourth Sunday of Easter
    • 05.04.25 Third Sunday of Easter
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    • African American Heritage Trail
    • Our Three-Year Plan
    • Weddings
    • History of Grace Church
  • Praise and Sweat Classes
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  • Liturgies to Say at Home
    • Spiritual Communion
    • Morning Prayer
    • Daily Devotions
    • Noonday Prayer
    • Evening Prayer
    • Compline for nightly use
    • The Angelus
    • BCP Services
  • Lobster Rolls and More
    • Community Suppers
    • Summer Lobster Rolls
  • Playground
  • Photographs
  • The Tisbury Connection

T.S. Eliot and the Magi

1/6/2019

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Picture
Last Thursday I discovered that the Wise Men did not tidily take a week to arrive at the manger. It probably took about a year, or maybe two, for them to arrive.  I am struck by the addition of time to their journey and can only marvel at their determination to follow what they knew to be true.  

I realized their guide for their journey, the star, only appeared when it was dark, and I appreciate the metaphor for our own journeys.

I read T. S. Eliot's poem, "The Journey of the Magi" as part of today's sermon and am providing it below.  You may also enjoy his "The Cultivation of Christmas Trees" and its sense of wonder.

Happy Epiphany, and God bless you.

Stephen+

​Journey Of The Magi
T. S. Eliot

'A cold coming we had of it, 
Just the worst time of the year 
For a journey, and such a journey: 
The ways deep and the weather sharp, 
The very dead of winter.' 
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, 
Lying down in the melting snow. 
There were times we regretted 
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces, 
And the silken girls bringing sherbet. 
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling 
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women, 
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters, 
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly 
And the villages dirty and charging high prices: 
A hard time we had of it. 
At the end we preferred to travel all night, 
Sleeping in snatches, 
With the voices in our ears, saying 
That this was all folly. 

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley, 
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation; 
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness, 
And three trees on the low sky, 
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow. 
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel, 
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver, 
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins. 
But there was no information, and so we continued 
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon 
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory. 

All this was a long time ago, I remember, 
And I would do it again, but set down 
This set down 
This: were we led all that way for 
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly, 
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death, 
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death. 
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms, 
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation, 
With an alien people clutching their gods. 
I should be glad of another death.

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    The Reverend Stephen Harding

    is the Rector
    ​of Grace Church.  

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